Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1032 — page 2: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

2 Cowboy Chris, THE MAN OF CALIBER: OR, HOT TIMES IN HOT HOLE. A Romance of Ranch, Range and Road Rovers, BY WM, WEST WILDER, (‘* WYOMING WILL,”) CHAPTER I. A RACKET IN THE WHOA IMMA, THE rattling music of a banjo came from within the *‘ Whoa Emma,” the principal saloon of the New Mexican mining-camp of Hot Hole, It was a midsummer evening, and the doors and windows of the saloon were standing wide open, }, for the night was sultry. Now and then a whoop of delight told of the satisfaction with which some hilarious individual received the music, Hot Hole was a new town of the San Juan Valley in tbe northwestern part of the Territory, but, as its n»me indicated, it was a very warm place, figuratively speaking. A glance at the throng gathered within the Whoa Ewma would have revealed the fact that the inbabitants of the camp comprised all classes to be found in the wild Southwest. fi. The room was filled with miners, speculators, adventurers, cowboys and gamblers, and many ‘wanderers and outcasts of different nations jostled each other in the throng. The common ruffian was there, as well as the finer-grained criminal whom the law had compelled to flee from ‘‘ the States,” The bar was doing a lively business, for the heat seemed to make the motley assembly very thirsty. As it was yet early in the evenin:, there were no games in progress at the card- tables, and the faro lay-out had not opened for’ the night’s run, The greater part of the crowd was assembled near the point from which came the lively-music. The musician was a coal-black negro of uncer- tain age, whose black face was covered by per- spiration anda look of jolly good-nature, His dark fingers ran over the strings in a manner that, as one admiring fellow observed, “‘ fairly made ’em talk.” ** Who’ dar!” he snickered, shaking his woolly head and showing his white teeth in a grin as lie doubled over the instrument. ‘“ Dis is w’at mecks yo’ feet mighty onstiddy, chilluns! Yo’ jes’ cayn’t keep ’em from jiggerin’.” And in proof of bis words, half a hundred feet were unconsciously keeping time to the music. Buddenly he ended with a rattling bang, flipped his banjo bottom side up and extended it for contributions, ‘* Jes’ be kind ob free-hearted, gemmans,” he said, ‘‘an’ I'll gib yo’ a song.” The donations being found satisfactory, he immediately fingered the strings again to make sure they were in perfect tune, then, in a de- lightfully melodious voice, rendered the follow- ing characteristic darky melody: > . ** Come along, niggers, an’ git on de shi Dat sails fo’ de Goldun Sho’; i If yo’ ain’t mighty spry, it’ll gib yo’ de slip An’ nebber com’ back anymo% =" 3 She hab h’isted up de sails an’ waits fo’ de breeze To carry her off on de sea, De crew ob de ship am dovn on deyr knees To pray fo’ de great jub. lee. * Oh! pack up yo’ grip an’ git on de shi * Dat sails fo’ de Golden Sho’; A: W’en dey pulls in de plank, if yo’s lef’ on de bank, It nebber comes back any mo’. ** Rush along, niggers, an’ d»>n’t be too late To git on de big wid deck; De debbil am a-wartchin’ to know yo’ fate, ' He hope dat de ship wiil wreck: But de good ole craft am safe an’ strong — To sail on de silver sea, An’ dem on de bote won’t wait berry long To sing in de great jubilee, Oh! k up yo’ rip an’ git on de shi Dat sails 0 de Golden Sho’; " W’en dey pulls in de plank, if yo’s lef’ on de bank, It neb comes back any mo’, The song was greeted with rounds of applause, which delighted the colored minstrel, , / ws / Cowboy Chris, the Man ‘You're a dandy, Pete{” cried one of the crowd, ‘-broad-shouldered “ Arr!” led a bi tough, called * Whisky J im,” **thet’s all ther j , ; yt ; / i Whey = ue a ¢ + ‘ul ~ 4 . - af Sa Pas ‘ + ; vr A i. : ~~ ; if wd Nea x j "i? | . . of Ok af ONT aera . ¢ sR Cae ee 5 de B43 ae eat t a ats ie ales ee TAR ay at Xi ‘¢, ‘S - t bee. Seon rt ee mo He don’t know northin’ but nigger’s good fer. He’s er reg’ler jest ter play ther banjo an’ sing. jackass,” ‘¢ se allus heard dat a jackass could be tole by his brayin’,” was the darky’s ready reply. ‘* Yo’ jes’ better look mighty sharp or some’uns ’ll be puttin’ a balter roun’ yo’ neck,” The blear-eyed ruffian strode forwar:! a pace and glared at the negro, as he demanded; “Wnt d’yer mean by thet, you black son of agua?” Pete closed one eye and guzed at Whisky Jim in a comical manner with the other, ‘* Say, boss,” he whispered, loud enough for the men gathered around to hear, ‘ jes’ yo’ keep still, an’ Pll nebber gib it away. But yo’d bes’ be kind ob keerful ur w’en dey git de halter roun’ yo’ neck dey’ll hitch yo’ ter a tree-limb out eight foot from de groun’. If de halter wur kind ob short, it might choke yo’ powerful bad,” A snarl of fury came from the ruffian’s beard- ed lips. ° Pa a good mine ter putt er bullet through your thick skull!” he howled. But the negro did not seem a bit frightened. He grinned in the most cheerful manner im- aginable, as he retorted; “If yo’ done dat, I'd ha’nt yo’ atter I wur dead, an’ I ‘lows by de color ob yo’ nose, dat sperrits am troublin’ yo’ righteous bad now. Dat bugle ob yo’s am a reg’ler danger-signal.” Whisky Jim would have drawn a revolver, but a hand on his wrist prevented, and a voice whispered in his ear: ‘Ther boss says not ter git in a row with ther nizzer. Pare down, pard!” The half-intoxicated tough turned toward the speaker, his hand falling from the butt of the revolver. : “‘ Hello, Mike,” be said. ‘Is this you? I hain’t seen you fer three days, Putt ber thar!” The two clasped hands, and as they stood near the center of the circle, they presented o fair representation of the coarser and more brutal toughs of the Southwest border, ' Whisky Jim and Nevada Mike bore unsavory reputations in Hot Hole, where they were feared and avoided, as desperadoes of the lowest type. Common rogues steored clear of these ruffians, who had sunk so low in the scale of humanity that they were but little above the beasts, The self-styled ‘*bad men” of the camp were fain not to boast when the ‘Twin Toughs” were present, ‘As for the respectable citizens of the new town, they were not powerful enough to rise up and purge the place of its ** undesirable ” characters, ’ Standing upon a table at the outer side of the circle and enabled from their elevated position to look over upon the colored musician was a young ‘‘tenderfoot,” and a squat, bow-legged cowboy. The tenderfoot, being hot-blooded and impulsive as he was fresh from the East, had been on the point of leaping down and forcing his way into the circle when the negro was threatened by Whisky Jim, but the horny band of the cowboy had restrained him, | * Slow an’ stiddy, boy,” cautioned the cld ecow-puncher, ‘*Thet hain’t none o’ your funeral,” | , : ‘But that big wretch may take it into bis head to shoot the negro!” somewhat excitedly retorted the youth. ‘* Do you suppose I am gene to stand by and see anything of that int Y ‘** Woof!” snorted the veteran of saddle and lariat. ‘ Ef vou make a break [ll hev ter rope ye. I don’t know ye frum a side o’ sole-leather an’ I bain’t spotted yer brand, but I do know ye’re a tenderfut, an’ thet’s ernough, Whisky Jim ’d think it fun ter lay ye out fer his private graveyard, an’ ye bain’t got no frien’s hyer ter call ther big galoot ter er settlement.” The young man drew bis tall figure up to its full height and squared his broad shoulders, ‘‘T am not a baby, if I am a tenderfoot,” he retorted. ‘ You are not my guardian, so—” »* Now, don’t gooff at bafe-cock! I’m Round- up Rube, an’ I’m goin’ ter be yer frien’, ’cause you makes me think o’ Chris, an’ Chris wuz er tenderfut w’en I fu’st saw hin. Jest looker byer. TPve got a gun in my han’ an’ I’m keep- in’ my telescopes on Whisky James. Ef he tries ter spot ther nigger, I'll hev ter throw him cold, thovgh l’d hate powerful ter git his gang atter me.” _ The bow-legged cowboy lifted his right hand and revealed the fact that it held a cocked re- volver. : ern The young tenderfoot was not pleased by Round-up Rube’s interference, but the advent of Nevada Mike on the scene made it unneces- sary for any one to defend the colored musician, + ™ ? : Ps ~s ‘ > ie ee ie : . ,,.* % »\ "4 \- : 4 vfi . re be \ pt te i - a a ) + oh bei oF - om» ye as, rs ‘ r * ’ . . ‘ § ~ le > 4 es ae oN ‘ ‘f e ie: ev« e - Vs Loe ~ Pe uf “1 * ] , ar. Lt ti eel cS Uae 51 Ae Se oS: eRe OI ee ea r NT ped Bitar ge nae of Caliber, —_——— - + CrCl — -~— ee ee so he remained on the table and watched what followed, ‘Strike up a lively chune, Whitewash,” cried — Mike, ‘* Make ther ole banjo howl, an’ watch me an’ Jim shake a fut,” The good-natured darky instantly complied, and, a*mument later, the two toughs were danc- ing in an awkward but decidedly lively fasi:ion, the stamping of their heavy boots making a ter- rific racket, . ‘‘Keerful dar, keerful dar!” warned Pete, as herattled the strings, ‘‘ Jes’ tread a leetle sof’er, chilluns, ur yoll bre’k do’n de flo’) Yi—yi! Jes’ sew dat feller’s lef? fut! Dat fut D’long to de church fo’ suah! Cayn’t seem ter keep up wid de odder nohow. Oh, wake up dar, “but yo’ bout! Yo’’s bofe goin’ to sleep!” In a few moments the crowd wags laughing and cheering the same as before Whisky Jii:’s | appearance, ‘Thet lets me out,” observed Round-up Rube, as he restored bis revolver to its holster, ‘'L didn’t want ter salt ther critter, fer 1 hain’t no keer ter got Lightfinger Flip arter me.” | ‘* W ho is Lightfivger Flip?” asked the tender- foot. ‘*He’s ther boss o’? them two Mavericks, an’ er migkty bad man be is—you hear me! Smooth an’ slick as grease, but be’ as hef cut a throat as eat,” “Why do they call him Lightfinger Flip?” ‘‘ He makes his boodle at/’keerds an’ in otber crooked ways, His fingers are derned handy with ther pasteboards, an’ thet’s how he got his handle, But, w’at might your name be, boy?” The youth hesitated a moment, then replied: ‘*You may call me Fred Walker,” . A. queer look passed over the cowboy’s weath- er-beaten face. , ; ‘‘ But thet hain’t yer right bandle, boy. All ther same, I don’t mind, Thar’s lots o’ people out hyer tbet don’t go by their right names, As I said afore, | kinder take ter you, ‘cause you make me think ©’ Chris, Not thet yer face looks like his, but you are built ’bout ther same an’ you’se a tenderfut same as he wuz ther fu’st time we run ag’in’ each c ther.” ‘‘ Who is this Chris you speak of?” ‘Nobody knows his other name, fer be won't tell it, so we calls him Cowboy Chris now. Some o’ ther lads bev gi’n bim ther title o’ ther ~ Man o’ Caliber, though he bain’t a bit older’n — . you, Lreckon. But, he’s er man all ther same, ev’ry inch o’ bim, an’ I’m proud ter say he’s my upil with ther rope an’ gun, Ther boys says Pn allus talkix’ bout Cnris, but I can’t bolp it. We both b’long over on ther Robinson Ranch, but I’m off now on a leetle bim. Hev bin away fer two weeks, but I can’t ’member much 0’ anythin’ as happened ther fu’st week, I’m pocrty well sobered off now, an’ I'm goin’ ter strike back ter-morrer ur next day, kinder anxious ter see my boy ag’in, though I know he'll guv me a blessed goin’ over.” — ‘‘ How is that?” ‘‘ Waal, ye see, we swore off tergether—said we'd never tetch anothér drap. I did it fer bis I’m gittin’ — sake, fer he’s young an’ ther rotten stuff’d be | his ruin ef he monkeyed with it. Now Pve bin an’ broke ther pledge. thet won’t mend it. I hope Chris’ll guv me ther I’m durned ’shamed, but | all-firedest larrupin’ I ever got—an’ he kin do _— it!” finisbed the old cowboy, making the cun- fession with pcsitive delight. At this moment there was a suddén commo- tion caused by the appearance of a tall, broad- — shouldered man who wore no hat on bis head and whose long hair and beard, thickly sprinkled with gray, gave him an awe-inspiring appear- ance. Straight toward the point from whence =~ came the music he strode, and the crowd fell = score of voicescrying: == = + ¥ back before him, + ‘‘1t is Old Rattlebrain !” hy CHAPTER II. i “ANDY ’ARRY HOF LUNNON.” f Tam young Easterner who stood on: the deal- table with Round-up Rube was startled as— ‘ ‘ 4 » WW s rl va bd : ‘ - yh ‘. Fo i. ‘ * < ay * of y 7 i ’ Py saw the wild light which flasbed from the eyes of the new-comer in the saloon. : | ‘*Great Scott!” he muttered. " The bow-legged cowboy. ‘ Thet’s w’y he’s ce Ole Rattlebrain, pleases. Kv seems afraid o’ him, even ter ther a 8 an’ their master, Lightfinger BS es SY Cees ‘Some cf the crowd did not succeed in getting out of the strange man’s way quick enough to picnee him and he caught them by the shoulders, urling them aside * _ te : ¢, re sleay as ie Pa," ie al oF { ~ ad Kilwa ile fads bf fee fh. citi ww yt _= , ~" . oe oe Tain’t very often he com es : . inter town, but w’en he does, he ginevalbe see i ‘things jest as he derned er’b re Twin Toughs bk. “Hit it plumb center fu’st shot!” nodded t re “ ae. al | ' nat ag w, ,% - Pity fi ¥, ~ - t , wv - ~~ ~~, as if they were children, __ “si ¥